2013-02-26 Go home, X-Man
Harlem, New York A fire rages in a small mutant hamlet in a corner section of Harlem. How it started is unclear, but almost immediately a dark, unidentified flying object is hovering over the building. What cannot be seen by the common eye, however, is that a man in a black suit with a red visor over his eyes is leaping from the flying object onto the building and disappearing into the flames inside. A few tense moments later there is a loud burst from one of the windows as three figures burst from the building and plummet down towards the ground. At the last moment, however, they spring upward in a bouncy manner, apparently suspended by some sort of cord. Eventually they're lowered to the ground and the two teens, obvious mutants, run towards their parents with tears in their eyes. "Oh thank you!" yells the father as he encircles the man in black with a giant hug. It's clear from the awkward grimace that this man does not often receive hugs. "You're... welcome, sir," Cyclops says. Olena is warm. It's a cold winter day in New York City and, for the first time since she arrived in this God-forsaken country, she's warm and dry in the middle of the slush and the wind and the snow. The deep hood of her new jacket covers her brown head and a scarf covers her nose. Gloves cover her hands. Add to it the fact that, although overcast, the temperature is above freezing for once and the winds are light, and, all in all, the girl is happy. Happier than she's been in months. Years, actually. She's had three good meals in the past 18 hours -- dinner, breakfast, and the lunch she just recently finished. She feels alive and happy. For once, happy. It's such an unusual feeling, she doesn't quite know what to make of it. She left her two de facto 'valets' back at the Action Center, deciding to take a walk. Her steps bring her back to Harlem, not so far from the place of her encounter with her current benefactors the night before. Basically, she's curious to know if the bodies left in the wake of her rescue have been moved or if they've been left for the humans to discover. The further along the street she goes, the more apparent the chaos and the fire becomes. The black smoke is sharp, acrid in her nose despite her healthy distance from the site. She pauses in her stroll, however, recognizing the awkward figure in the black, tight fitting uniform. What happiness she felt drains away, replaced with a hard, tight expression that darkens her momentarily lightened eyes. He, she is certain, is one of those X-Men from Poznyar. For just a moment, she considers turning on her heel and leaving. But, she doesn't. Instead, she moves closer, watching him. Watching the people he helps. And those he doesn't. Luckily for Scott, human kind, and Olena's conscience, the two young girls were the only ones left in the building. The rest are conglomerating in front of the rundown complex, waiting for the fire department to arrive as they brace against the chill. Meanwhile, Cyclops disengages himself long enough to look down at his wrist and begins tapping away at something. A moment later the floating object, still obscured by bright lights, shoots a grayish foam from its hull, straight through the windows. Cyclops remains unaware-blissfully, perhaps-of the hatred of Olena. Olena stays closer to the buildings on the far side of the street, away from the sidewalk's edge (and thus the taxi-driving jerks that would be likely to splash slush all over her clean new clothes). The technology the mutant hero wields is interesting. She relaxes, as she stands there, much as she once did before firing her bow, letting her surrounding environment fill her senses and filtering out the pieces that don't matter. Her focus narrows on the hero, the buiding, and his attempts to put out the flame. A wry smile touches her lips, pulling sardonically to one side. Of course, he puts out the fire. How very nice. But where will the refugees go? Where is safe for them? Especially given the clearly mutant visages of their little girls. She moves forward, now, drifting toward that family, even as the rest of the crowd gathers closer. The flame retardant does wonders and eventually the flames on the top floor subside. The spray eventually stops flowing from the object in the sky and a few drops fall harmlessly to the sidewalk before the 'faucet' finally turns off. Cyclops looks up to the sky and touches another button on his wrist. A moment later a wire falls from the sky out of the light and the X-man grabs the end, fastening it to his belt. Whispers start among some parts of the gathering crowd and wash over Olena as she moves amidst them. Some are gobsmacked, enjoying the show, the hero's appearance, and the timely rescue. Others snort derision about the "mutie freaks" and how they should have been left in blaze. The former hardly merit the Ukrainian's attention. The latter earn her scorn and more careful attention. Just in case. She stops a yard or two away from the family, part of her awareness on the tenor of the crowd, gauging how likely they are to turn on the family. Part of it, however, remains on Cyclops. "Is that it, then, X-man?" she asks, not shouting but audible -- if only because of her foreign accent and simplified English. "Pluck them from fire and leave them on road. Zvychayno." (Naturally.) She turns away from him with a soft snirk and looks at the family. "I know little of city," she admits, "but I found place, if you need." Cyclops' gaze goes from the sky and comes back downward to Olena. He tilts his head, as if not quite comprehending. "I'm sorry? I'm not quite sure I follow you," Cyclops responds, even as the woman is turning her back on him. "Hecklers usually have the audacity to sit around and wait for a response." The family is doubtlessly nonplussed by the girl, and slow to respond. In any case, her attention is diverted back to the hero. Her lips twist wryly, partially curling into a grimace that's not quite a wry smile and is entirely humourless. "Sorry? Is too late 'sorry'. You not need follow." She gives a dismissive flick of her finely gloved hand. "Go. Go back to home. Go back to life. We survive." This only goes to confuse Cyclops further. He exchanges glances with some of the bystanders, who don't seem to understand it either. "I'm not really sure what you're talking about ma'am. I'm sure this is some sort of misunderstanding." Scott's ears listen for any oncoming authority personnel. He obviously needs to be out of here before they arrive. Olena is likely to hear them before the X-Man is, simply given her gifts. And she's probably less keen on meeting them than he is. There are sirens in the distance, at the edge of her hearing; they'll grow more audible for everyone else after a couple more minutes. That's when she'll worry about leaving. "What is to misunderstand?" she challenges, stepping toward him, now, mind processing the various escape routes as she does. It's not a request for translation. She understands the word perfectly well. And points to the line on his belt, the building, and the family in sequence with her explanation: "You come. You rescue from fire. You leave. Go back to life. Go back to home." She fixes him with a hard look. "They have no home. Their home? Gone. No more. This place? Their children? Safe? Not safe?" She shrugs. "Who knows? You go home. Is ok. We find place. We survive. Is good. Is fine. Go. Go home." "What would you rather me do?" Cyclops asks, before being interrupted by the family's father. "My daughters would be dead if not for this man. Is that what you'd prefer?" He shakes his head incredulously. "What is your deal, lady?" Olena looks at the father and shakes her head. "*I* would be dead, if not for this man," she admits. Her tone is light, civil, even. But there's still an edge to it. "He save girls. Is good." She's not contesting that. "But, now big danger past. He must go. Before cops come. Government. This, I understand. He go home. But you. Need new home. Safe place. For little girls, da? Maybe find one. Maybe not. Who to say? But, now, is not him. He go home. Is you to find new place. Hope people ok with..." she hunts the word, "difference. You. Not him. He go home to safe place. He now helped as much as will. Maybe as much as can. Is fine." She looks back at Cyke. "Go home, X-Man. Sirens come." Though they're still too faint for most. She taps her ear. "I hear." Cyclops stares at the young woman for a long time, "So...let me get this straight. You would be dead without my help, but because I am going to....go home...That's some sort of problem?" He shakes his head slowly, "What more should I have done in your case, whoever you are--should I have bought you an apartment? I'm not following you, and it's not a language barrier thing. I don't think you're making much sense." "One word, X-man," Olena says, then, dark gaze settling on his visor. "Poznyar." Hard to say how many others recognize the name. It's been months since any wide-spread news reports about the incident. If she's trying to get under Cyclops' skin, she's succeeded, "How dare you! You come here dropping these vague knocks on me...On my character...and then you bring up Poznyar? Who do you think you are?" Olena's own patience -- what scant she had -- snaps at that point. "Vy zarozumilyy ublyudo!" The translation doesn't really matter. Her emotion, the anger, makes clear enough. She reaches for her left sleeve and yanks it up, revealing the indelible ink of a Ukrainian government mutant registration processing tattoo. The mark of the concentration camps. He doubtless saw hundreds of them in the immediate aftermath of the battle. "Poznyar. I. Was. There." she snarls. "You save us from gas chamber. You not save us from death. From hunters after you go home. You had go to home. I *know* this. But, you not save us, X-man." Her shoulders fall, as does her sleeve. "You simply give us slower death. Less choking. More bleeding. So much better. Spasybi." (Thank you.) "But, is okay. I have new home now. Is better." She brushes off her new clothes as the sirens finally become clearly apparent. "I go there now. You go home, too." She glances at the father. "If you need new home, for short time or long, you could come. If not? Is okay. Udachi." (Good luck.) Cyclops seems shocked at Olena's outburst and even goes so far as to take a step back. He has a bit of trouble processing things as they happen. Things did not go great in the aftermath of the Ukraine, for sure, but what was he or they supposed to do? "That's not our fault," he says weakly. Now that the sirens can be heard, he turns his focus back on the cable, knowing he needs to leave in a hurry. It's pretty likely the father thinks the Ukrainian girl's a loon. At the very least, he's likely horribly confused by the outburst. It hardly matters. The cops are coming and he needs to give a statement -- if only for insurance purposes. So, he retreats, rather than spend any more time in the middle of this. It's possible some of the crowd recognize the name of the place, but the news reports really didn't say much about what had actually happened prior to the discovery of the soldiers in their steel trap. Olena regards the X-Man as he falls back. He's right, she knows -- though she won't admit that to anyone, including herself. It's the fault of the Ukraine government and of frightened humans too quick on the trigger. But, that's of little comfort. So, she turns her back on him and walks away, crowd seeming to melt around her, leaving him to his retreat. 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